


The Long Road

by hernameinthesky



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Background Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge, Pre-Canon, Sibling Bonding, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hernameinthesky/pseuds/hernameinthesky
Summary: The engagement of John Blythe and Mary Macdonald is the newest gossip in Avonlea.
Relationships: Marilla Cuthbert & Matthew Cuthbert
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Long Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penintime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penintime/gifts).



> Thank you penintime for your wonderful prompts, I had a great time visiting Green Gables again!
> 
> Thank you ashling for beta’ing!
> 
> Happy Yuletide!

The engagement of John Blythe and Mary Macdonald was announced in late autumn, just as the last of the leaves were beginning to fall. Marilla might have been left to find it out through the newspaper announcement, for nobody ever thought to gossip with the Cuthberts, but for the friendship of Rachel Lynde. Friendship it must be called, though Marilla had never done so before, for Rachel told Marilla the news as though she had never heard of Marilla having a beau at all.

“I expected as much,” Marilla said, examining an apple carefully before sighing and tossing it into a bucket by her feet. “I’m afraid I didn’t pick these apples as soon as I should have. Not two in three are suitable for anything but the pigs. When will the ceremony be?”

“Not until next spring, I guess. John’s planning on buying old Jack Phillips’ farm, and Jack’s not moving until March. John’s always been a practical sort like that, and Mary’s no romantic.”

“I’ve always found her pleasant company, though I don’t know her well,” Marilla said neutrally. She could feel Rachel’s eyes on her and was thankful when the kettle began to whistle. “Will you have some cake, Rachel? I made a sponge this morning that was supposed to be for the Sewing Circle meeting tomorrow, but I can make another for that.”

“Thank you, no. I can’t eat sweet things at the moment without feeling nauseous.” Rachel ran a tender hand over her belly, just starting to round. It would be her third baby in as many years, but Marilla was not jealous. She had never liked little children and the knowledge that she would likely never have any did not sting. No, that was not the cause of the pain in her heart. 

She went back to sorting the apples after Rachel had gone, sighing anew when almost half had to go in the pigs’ bucket. Her mother had always picked the apples, and it hadn’t occurred to Marilla until far too late that she wouldn’t be able to this year. Mrs Cuthbert had taken to her bed last winter, and though she complained of nothing but weakness, it seemed unlikely she would ever get up again. The daily tasks of housekeeping had fallen entirely to Marilla. She had not been so preoccupied with this though as to miss John walking Miss Macdonald home from every social event since the spring. Their engagement was, as she had told Rachel, entirely expected. She had made her peace with it.

Her hands shook as she sliced one of the good apples, juice rolling down her thumb to her wrist. She stopped and took a deep breath, pressing her lips together tightly.

* * *

She had the table set for supper and a tray made up for Mrs Cuthburt when her father came in that evening, Matthew trailing behind him. Mr Cuthbert took the tray up to his wife along with a plate for himself, leaving his children to each other’s company.

Matthew sat down by the fire, silent, as Marilla bustled around the kitchen, putting on the kettle again and closing the curtains against the dark, rain-speckled sky. Quiet was not uncommon at Green Gables, but this evening Marilla found it rankled her nerves. She filled the room with a steady chatter as she worked, ignoring Matthew’s surprise. 

“Mother seemed rather better today. She ate well at breakfast and spent most of the morning reading to me as I did the sewing. I’ve managed to mend the rent in your shirt, so do be careful, Matthew, and don’t tear it again. Here you are, then. It’s a bit of a pick up supper, I didn’t have time for anything more. I realised the apples needed picking—I should have realised days ago when I saw they’d started dropping, but I suppose I’ve been distracted with Mother—and I’ve spent all afternoon separating out the good ones. Would you like another slice of bread? There’s plenty of that, at least. There won’t be many jars of preserve, I’m afraid, but I’ve managed an apple pie for you. I know you look forward to it this time of year. Mother’s recipe of course. 

“Rachel Lynde took some time this afternoon to unburden herself of what must be a month’s worth of news. You’d think she’d have other things to worry about,” she added meaningfully.

Matthew, who was not at all desirous of furthering his scant knowledge of motherhood and the road to getting there, busied himself with another helping of blackberry preserve.

“She told me that Mr. Taylor is hoping for a call elsewhere. Rachel has always said he was too young to stay in a quiet village like Avonlea, wants the excitement of city life. I don’t feel it’s my place to criticise ministers, you know that, Matthew, but I can only say I hope the next one we have is steadier of character. More tea? We can have whipped cream with our pie, but I don’t want to break into anymore preserves yet. We’ll only have a few jars of apple, I didn’t pick them in time—”

“You said.”

Marilla blushed and frowned down at her plate. It was scrupulously empty, but she had not tasted a bite. 

“Is, ah, something wrong, Marilla?”

She glanced up at Matthew, and her tired mouth curved into a smile to see him paying such assiduous attention to eating. If there was anyone more uncomfortable with strong emotion than herself, it was her brother. It was kind of him to ask, though.

“No, Matthew. Everything is fine.”

He nodded in relief and set his cutlery down, stretching back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “That was good after a long day. Harvest will be finished this week.”

“Good,” said Marilla. She hesitated. She began to clear the table, then realised Matthew had not yet finished his tea, and sat back down. She ran a finger over the rim of her teacup, then clasped her hands together to quell the urge to fidget. “Rachel told me John Blythe is going to marry Miss Macdonald in the spring.”

Matthew froze, cup suspended in the air, eyes wide over the rim. “Oh.”

An awkward silence descended. 

Marilla broke it with a brittle laugh. “Entirely expected, I don’t know why I’m even bringing it up. Everyone knew it was going to happen. Never mind, Matthew. Forget I said anything.”

Matthew watched unhappily as Marilla cleared away the tea things and began washing the dishes. Not much disturbed Matthew Cuthbert, but seeing his sister descend from joyous hope to dreary sorrow in the matter of John Blythe had pained him deeply. He did not particularly want Marilla to marry, for then they would have to get a housekeeper and he would be miserable with a strange woman in the house, but he would sacrifice almost anything to make her happy. John Blythe had made her happy.

“You ever make up that old quarrel?” he asked mildly. 

Marilla paused, then continued more briskly, scrubbing rather harder than necessary at a plate. “No,” she said shortly.

“Hmm...” Matthew was quiet for so long she began to think that would be the end of it, but as she began drying he spoke again. “Terrible thing, quarrelling with someone...anyone...but especially someone important. When folks don’t make up...bad blood shouldn’t be allowed to linger, is all I’m saying.”

“There is no bad blood between John and I. It’s all so long ago now, it would be absurd to hold grudges.” 

“Well now, two years don’t always feel long, when a matter is important. But you know yourself best, Marilla.”

“I do, so you needn’t hint,” Marilla said waspishly. 

She felt a pang of guilt when Matthew didn’t answer back, though for a minute this made her angrier still. It was quite unbearable having a brother who wouldn’t argue. Marilla was not hot-tempered though and the sternness of her conscience would not allow her to remain angry for long. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. But you’re wrong about bad blood. I don’t blame John, and he is never anything but friendly to me.”

Friendly and bland as a stranger. It hurt Marilla when she thought of how close they’d been, first friends who had had as close to perfect understanding as any two people can, and then...more. Marilla sometimes wondered if she would ever walk by Barry’s Pond again without remembering the warmth of his hands in hers and the heat of his lips, waking something in her that would never be dormant again, no matter if she married or not.

“You might talk to him,” Matthew suggested quietly.

Marilla closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. “No. He is engaged...the time for talking has passed. I have missed my opportunity.”

Matthew’s chair creaked as he stood. “Perhaps it’s for the best,” he said. “Sometimes things happen for reasons we can’t see.”

It was a hope Marilla had clung to over the last months, and it would see her through the coming spring. It would. 

“I must go and fetch Mother’s tray,” she said. She started for the door but Matthew surprised her by intercepting her and pulling her into an awkward, tender hug. He had not hugged her since they were children, and she smiled against his chest. Her quiet, understanding brother. It would not be a bad life, living with him. 


End file.
